


Car Washing: You're Doing It Wrong (But It's Oh So Right)

by VeetVoojagig



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Car washing, Crossdressing, Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6695818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeetVoojagig/pseuds/VeetVoojagig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elder of the Strider boys has an ironic birthday present to help Mr. Egbert wash his car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Car Washing: You're Doing It Wrong (But It's Oh So Right)

I stare down at the box in my lap, then up at the young man who had sprawled across the entire sofa, leaving me to take the armchair and the boys to settle as they could on the floor. I can see his eyebrow quirked upwards between his dark glasses and the brim of his cap. “Problem?” he says, the corners of his mouth turned upward in an amused smirk.

“What is this?” I ask, gesturing at the package. It’s obvious, but what I really want to know is what the dickens he was thinking.

“Traditional costume for car washing,” he drawls, his tone sincere, but the tilt of his lips belying it. “You’ve been doing it wrong this whole time.”

The teens are paying attention now, starting to snicker, and Dave high-fiving his brother over the hilarious irony as the Strider boys are wont to do. I, on the other hand, am regretting ever telling the elder that it was my birthday.

John can hardly breathe as he reaches over, picking the pale pink and floral patterned bikini out of the box, almost asphyxiating on his laughter. I pat his back gently, trying to calm him down. “Hahahaha, Dad! It’s perfect!” he says, slapping his thigh in mirth.

Strider has certainly won the prankster’s gambit on this exchange, though his means are unconventional.

I’ve opened my other presents—a beautiful new tie from John, and a package of cake mix from Dave—and the boys have left on their own adventure, to visit the arcade, or to watch girls at the mall, or to hold hands in the back of a darkened movie theater; I’m not sure what their relationship to each other is, only that they seem to spend most of their time together. I have no objections. Dave is a sweet boy.

His brother, on the other hand…

My breath quickens as his tongue slowly caresses his upper lip, and his fingers twitch towards the box. “Don’t you usually wash your car right about now?” he asks, his lips forming a perfectly calculated innocent pout.

How I find myself now, bent over the hood of my car, sponge in hand, tight spandex clinging in all the wrong places as the cool breeze chills far too much exposed skin, I can’t tell you. There are many things that have happened in the months since I’ve met the young man that I can’t explain. He barely says anything in his attempts to persuade, no formal argument that is irrefutable; and yet, I’m unable to resist his teasing touches and the soft promise of his voice.

In one matter, however, I remained firm, a source of pride for me: my fashionable and proper fedora still rests on my head. A true gentleman is never seen without his hat, and even young Strider will not take that from me.

He likely finds it deliciously ironic.

I don’t see him move. One instant he’s leaning against the rail of the porch, the next, pressed close behind me, his arm circling me. His fingers twine with mine and force me to lift the sponge against my chest, squeezing, drenching me with suds and water. His breath is hot against my neck. I keep my face stern, but a shiver runs down my form, and I know he can guess that it isn’t caused by the chill of the sluicing. 

I suppose it’s best he talked me into this ridiculous getup; I’d be livid if my normal clothes had been ruined. 

Back to the matter at hand, however, which would be _his_ hands, now resting on my water-soaked abdomen. His body blocks much of the bite of the cool breeze, and creates its own heat to dispel the remainder of it. The form pressed against me is wiry, but strong. I could break free of his grasp if I wished, but not effortlessly. 

It’s one of the things that initially intrigued me, that strength. I rarely feel so evenly matched. 

His breath is hot on my ear. “I was right,” he purrs, a fingertip tracing the low waistline of the bikini briefs. “That looks amazing on you.” 

I can’t help but tremble at his touch, but I keep my voice steady. “That’s only because I’m practically naked,” I answer. 

“It’s that ‘practically’ I have a problem with,” he says with a breathy chuckle. His hands are suddenly under the spandex, stretching it even further. And, pinned against my my car as I am, I’m well aware of his, shall we say, regard. His very large regard. 

“Mr. Strider,” I say, and there’s a hitch in my voice despite myself. I can feel myself returning his appreciation, pressing painfully against the too-tight fabric covering my now indecent nether quarters. “We are in the middle of the yard.”

His hands are now absent from my garments (that should by rights be under- as little as they conceal), gesturing grandly around the mentioned yard as he turns slowly. “The backyard,” he says dryly. “No one’s gonna see. Relax, sugar. I got ya.” 

His accent always gets thicker when he’s aroused. 

I try to take advantage of that momentary lapse to get free of the situation (or at least to get inside, safe from prying eyes), but he moves so quickly I don’t even see him before I’m pinned back against the car, this time facing him. He lifts me onto the hood, spreading my legs. 

Turning my head, I look over my shoulder. There’s no one in sight. A sigh escapes me as I let myself relax. He lays me back and rescues me from the painfully tight briefs, peeling the clinging fabric from my hips. Later I may be disgusted by how eager I am for it, but for now, it doesn’t matter. 

He’s between my legs again, and I groan as I hear his zipper being drawn down. I see him fishing objects out of the pockets of his jeans before he pulls the fabric away from his hips, displaying himself unashamedly for my eyes, and, of course, anyone else who happens to look into my backyard. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder again. 

His hands deftly work open the packet he’d retrieved and roll the protective latex over his proud member. He then coats his fingers with lubricant.

“You certainly came prepared,” I say, resigned to the idea that he could expect me to be such an ‘easy lay’ for him. 

“Boy scouts,” he drawls, smirking as his slick fingers brush over my entrance.

My eyebrows fly upward even as I gasp at the contact. “You… you were a scout? I find that hard to believe.” 

“Nah.” He chuckles and slides a digit into me, working me as skillfully as always. I roll my head back despite myself as he continues. “I put Dave in scouts. Annoyed the fuck out of him and got him outta my hair sometimes. I just hung around and learned a bit.” 

“You… you didn’t.” I let out a breathless laugh, arching under his touch with a groan as he adds a second finger. My hands clench into fists, unable to find purchase on anything on the smooth metal hood of my car. I compose myself well enough to speak again with great effort. “One can’t just hang around scout meetings. You’d rouse unsavory suspicions.”

His mouth drops in an expression of shock, and I know without doubt that it’s feigned. “Unsavory suspicions? You can’t mean that you think _anyone_ would accuse li’l ol’ me of bein’ some kinda pervert.” He smirks then, and twists his fingers inside me before pulling them out.

I moan at the loss, bucking my hips desperately towards him like the basest of strumpets. 

“Easy there, sugar. I ain’t gonna leave you like that, don’t worry.” His hands are on my thighs, then, spreading them apart and holding them in place. He leans over me, the heat of his body making me shudder in need. He doesn’t make me wait. Almost instantly I feel the pressure of his phallus, the burn as my skin stretches around the head as it enters me. He pushes slowly for just a moment, then his hips thrust forward and he buries himself in me completely. 

I cry out, my body taking him in willingly, used by now to his method of intrusion. My legs hook around his lean form, my arms finding a place around his shoulders. As much as his attitude might peeve me, I have never felt more bliss than when his body is over mine like so. 

His breath is rough and warm against my ear. “That’s right, sweetheart. I’ll give ya what ya want.” And then he’s moving inside me, and it grows harder to think, each thrust sending sparks flying through my body, singing along my nerves. The moaning I hear must be coming from my own throat, because he’s still whispering at my ear. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. So fuckin’ needy. So fuckin’ hungry for my cock.” 

I blush, but I can’t protest. Not only because he’s right, but because I can’t form words whenever he’s inside me. And he knows it, the smug rogue. 

I lose track of time, swept away by the sensations that swell and grow stronger with each movement, by the rough voice at my ear that keeps degrading even as it compliments, the mix of it driving me wild even as it shames me, and the shame only serves to excite me more. As soon as his firm hand curls itself around the evidence of my own enjoyment I’m lost completely, arching and spasming as I find release from the building pressure. 

He gasps a string of profanities I’m not going to repeat, gripping my thighs harder and thrusting powerfully for just a moment more until he grunts and stills. 

It feels like a lifetime passes before he pulls away from me, and still, it’s not enough. My hand stretches out towards him and I lift my head, blinking my eyes, trying to focus. But he’s not leaving. One hand catches the one I flailed towards him. His other has found my car-washing sponge and is wiping the evidence of my pleasure off of my abdomen. I relax once more and look up at him. 

His eyes meet mine, and I feel a flash of shock. His sunglasses are pushed up onto his forehead. And what I see now I can’t read properly. “I... “ I swallow roughly. 

His fingers trail up my legs, and I realize he’s pulling my bikini back on. The spandex snaps around my hips once more and then he steps away from me. I sit up reluctantly to see him pulling his jeans on and fastening them. He looks back at me with his hands in his pockets.

He’s leaving. Of course he’s leaving. I don’t know why I would expect anything different. But his glasses are still raised, leaving him open and vulnerable. This is something new. 

He clears his throat, staring at me, and finally speaks. “So,” he says, “you musta guessed that wasn’t really your present.” He smirks slightly, but it lacks the barefaced confidence of his usual expression. “Yeah, that was for me. Early birthday present, as it were. This, uh, this is for you.” He pulls a hand out of his pocket and shoves a small box at me.

I take it with uncertain fingers and open it. Inside is nestled an elegant gold band, embedded with chips of sapphire that would match my eyes. 

“You can have me, I guess, is what I’m sayin’,” he adds when I don’t answer. 

All I can do is stare. This is beyond unexpected. I had even assumed that I was only one in a string of lovers. I imagined that the club he works at is a hotbed of licentiousness and depravity, though part of that might be that I can’t imagine him working somewhere that wasn’t. He must bring young, attractive people back to his apartment all the time. Mustn’t he? 

His face locks back into its unmovable expression and he tips the opaque glass back over his eyes. He turns and starts walking away. 

“Dirk,” I say quickly, pushing away from the car, with an absent note that I would have to wash it again after what we’d just done to it.

He turns back, startled by the use of his given name, one which he probably thought I didn’t know. I had, however, looked at his drivers’ licence once while he was showering. 

I hold up my hand, displaying the ring sitting comfortably on the appropriate finger. “I would be honored,” I say seriously. I move closer and take both of his hands in mine. I lean in to kiss him softly. 

His hands free themselves, then his arms are around me. I feel the warmth of his palms on bare skin. I stiffen and push him away. “For god’s sake, let me change before we continue this discussion,” I say sternly.

His laugh is the only answer, but he lets me pull away and enter my house.

**Author's Note:**

> One: This is actually the first Homestuck fic I started writing, and I'm really glad I got something else done first. It would be weird to come into this fandom with weird Bro/Dadness.
> 
> Two: I finished writing this at exactly 4:13. This is the best achievement I've ever accomplished.


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